


Reconnecting

by Flamebyrd



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-24
Updated: 2009-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 05:03:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flamebyrd/pseuds/Flamebyrd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad retires and takes his bike across America. Somehow he ends up having lunch with Nate in Boston. Futurefic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reconnecting

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alethia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/gifts).



> For the sake of my sanity, I didn't do any research into the real-life wives or children of the relevant people (edit: although completely accidentally I appear to have correctly guessed Nate's wife name?). I also didn't get the chance to have this betaed before Yuletide went live, so I'm sorry for any errors (particularly any stray Australianisms).

After the fifth person he catches up with says "So, you finally escaped, did you?" Brad gives up and buys a bike. It's a new bike, faster and safer than anything he's ever had before, and he's old enough now that he actually appreciates the latter. It takes him longer to recover from stupid mistakes now, and he's starting to feel the ache in his bones.

Brad packs a bag and gets on the bike and just rides. A few hundred miles out into the desert he starts feeling a little less like he's going to punch the next person who implies his military career was anything less than a choice.

He rides for days, staying in cheap motels and stopping at tourist traps to stretch his legs. He doesn't think he ever lost America, but he feels like he's finding it again anyway.

Days turn into weeks and somehow he finds himself in New England. _What the hell_, he thinks. They haven't really spoken in an age and he's not even sure he'd recognize Nate on the street if he hadn't seen his picture pasted in magazines over the intervening years, but he looks him up anyway.

It's Wednesday morning, 1100 hours. He tries the home number for the hell of it and doesn't leave a message when voicemail kicks in.

Brad taps a finger against his thigh for a moment before he calls the work number.

Nate answers the phone with a crisp, generic greeting that Brad doesn't even bother listening to.

He snorts derisively. "No secretary, Nate? I thought for sure I'd have to explain myself to some over-protective suspicious ivy league--" He breaks off, because he thinks he can Nate trying to muffle laughter.

"Brad?" Definitely amused. Surprised.

"That's me." Brad finds himself suddenly at a loss to explain himself.

"I heard you retired." Neutral, verging on curious.

"Affirmative." Brad wonders who's been talking to Nate, and wonders if he even minds that he's a feature in someone's gossip network. "I'm in Boston right now, did you hear that too?"

"No, you've got me with that." Nate is amused again. "You want to get lunch?"

"Sure," says Brad. "Just tell me where."

Nate gives him an address, and he pipes it into the GPS and figures out he has two hours to reach a restaurant that's only forty minutes away.

He rides to the lake and watches the ducks. There are children around, mothers and fathers and the occasional office workers taking early lunch. He feels like an alien, but none of them even give him a second glance.

He lets the GPS guide him to the restaurant and finds Nate standing outside, typing something into his palm computer. He puts it aside when he sees Brad and smiles. "Hey."

Brad nods and shakes Nate's hand in greeting. "Hey." Nate looks good. Softer, but not too out of shape. Graying, but aren't they all?

Brad is saved from having to make small talk as the waitress seats them and prods them into ordering drinks before they've had the chance to do more than glance at the menu.

He asks Nate about work, and Nate takes over leading the conversation through receiving their drinks and ordering their meals. There's a wry look in Nate's eyes that means he knows what Brad's doing and isn't going to let him get away with it.

"And how's Margaret? And--" Momentary mental blank on Nate's daughter's name. "Christine?"

"Christine is great. She's in her third year at Harvard."

Brad can't quite help the snort of derision that escapes from him.

"She's doing civil engineering. I was very proud." Nate's tone is very dry. Brad is being teased. "As for Margaret, we divorced eighteen months ago."

"Oh. I'm... sorry to hear that."

Nate shrugs. "With Chris at college, we realized we'd lost the only thing we had in common anymore. We're still friends."

Brad snorts again, and Nate seems to take that as a challenge, because he leans forward and raises his eyebrows.

"And how are you?"

Not asking what it's like being on the outside. Not asking what he's been up to. "How are you", so he has an out, he can say "fine" and move on without having to talk about his fucking feelings.

He doesn't take it. He nods his head to the side of their table, taking in the restaurant full of people living their ordinary lives with their simple worries and unimportant problems. "It's fucking weird thinking I'm one of them now. Still doesn't seem real."

Nate shakes his head. "Once a marine, always a marine, remember? You're still who you always were."

Brad rolls his eyes. "Save your philosophical shit. You've been here too long."

Nate shrugs. "I won't ask if you want to talk about it, then." He still seems amused, but there's an undercurrent of real concern, like he's worried Brad's going to be one of those basket-cases you see on TV, who never adjusts and goes crazy with a shotgun one day.

"Nothing to talk about. I woke up one day and decided I'd had enough, so I quit."

"We all get tired one day. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

"And to answer your next question, no, I don't know what I'm going to do now. I have a bike, I'm going to ride it until something else comes up." He has time, he has money. He can take it slow.

Nate nods in acceptance of this. "How long are you in town for?"

Brad shrugs. "Haven't thought that far ahead yet."

"Well, if you're still here this afternoon, I'm meeting Chris for coffee. You can come along, if you're interested."

"I'll let you know," says Brad.

Nate turns the conversation to mutual friends and reminiscing and Brad finally lets himself unwind. By the time their food is done with and they're looking at the bill, he almost feels relaxed.

He lets Nate pay for lunch.

"I've got to get back to work. I'll give you my cell and you can call me if you're still here at five, okay?"

"Call at seventeen hundred, got it."

Nate snorts. "You want to fit in with these folk, you have to speak their language. Call at five, Brad."

Brad finds a tourist information center and concludes that Boston is full of museums and libraries. He visits the USS Constitution and feels thankful he's living in the 21st Century for once.

1700 rolls around and he considers just getting on the bike and leaving, but his fingers reach for his phone.

When Brad rolls into the cafe, Nate and his daughter are holed up in a booth, drinks already in front of them. He orders coffee (plain coffee) at the counter and waits to pick it up before greeting them.

"You made it. Brad, this is my daughter Christine. Chris, this is Brad Colbert."

Nate's daughter is blonde and gorgeous. She smiles at him and shakes his hand. "From the book?"

Brad and Nate exchange a look that says 'it was my life, not just a book'. Brad gives a tiny shrug. _Civilians_.

"From my platoon, yes," says Nate. Just a slight hint of reproach.

Brad sits down next to Nate. He's thinking this was a bad idea. Nate isn't an alien, but his daughter could well be.

Nate gently pushes Brad into talking computers with Christine, and the girl almost manages to redeem herself. She knows what she's talking about. When he mentions his bike, she immediately launches into a discussion about the technology behind it.

Once he's emptied his cup of coffee, Brad excuses himself to go to the bathroom. He finishes his business quickly and heads back out into the cafe. Nate and Christine are talking to each other intently and haven't noticed him yet. Curious, Brad circles around so he can approach from the other side.

He sees Christine dart a glance in the direction of the bathrooms and feels smug with the confirmation that they're talking about him.

Brad finds a spot where he's hidden by some kind of decorative plastic plant but still within earshot of them and pulls out his phone, pretending to be typing a message.

"Well, it's about time you started dating again."

"I'm sorry, dating?" Nate sounds a little like he may be choking.

"Sure, why not? Mom's dating again."

"Is she really?" He recognizes that mild tone of Nate's. "What's he like?"

"Stop changing the subject." Christine sounds annoyed.

"No, tell me, I'm curious."

"Fine, it was just one date and she's not going to call him back. But the point is that she's dating again. I don't mind, you know."

"I still see how this conversation is even relevant."

"You and Brad Colbert. Don't give me that look. There was _something_ there, wasn't there?"

"Did you ever hear of 'don't ask, don't tell'?"

"_Dad_, they got rid of that in the twenty-teens."

"Which, you may recall, was _after_ I served with Brad in Iraq, where, you may also recall, I was his commanding officer." A pause. "You should also bear in mind that Brad is a recon marine and there is a greater-than-fifty-percent chance that he is in fact listening to this conversation."

Silence for a moment. "I'm just showing interest in your life." Christine sounds embarrassed.

"You can ask me about my love life when you start telling me about yours."

"_Dad_!"

Brad gives them a minute before he heads back to the table. Christine's cheeks flush slightly pink when she sees him.

He sits a little too close to Nate, their thighs almost touching. He thinks to himself, _I can do this now._

Christine rather ostentatiously checks her watch. "I'd better go. Nice meeting you, Brad. Love you, Dad."

Brad lets Nate out of the booth in order to see his daughter off with a hug and a kiss.

Nate sits back down again opposite him.

"Smart kid," says Brad. "Observant."

Nate gives him a wry smile. "You make any decision on how long you're in town for?"

"It'll be dark soon." Brad shrugs. "Guess I'd better find myself a motel or something."

"I have a very fine sofa in my apartment," says Nate. "You can stay as long as you want."

"Yeah?" Brad swallows, licks his lips. "I think I'll take you up on that."

"Good," says Nate. He smiles.

Brad gets on his bike and follows Nate home.

**Author's Note:**

> I probably shouldn't have written this, given I haven't actually read the book or watched the show (although I have flicked through the transcripts and read the Rolling Stone articles), but the idea took hold and I couldn't get rid of it. But, it's called Yuletide madness for a reason, isn't it? And then it ended up too long for the Madness collection. C'est la vie.


End file.
